


Lose My Mind, Find My Soul

by p1013, wanderingeyre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A Very Sterek Summer, Alpha Derek Hale, Camping, Canon-typical peril, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Minor Danny Mahealani/Isaac Lahey/Liam Dunbar, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Monster of the Week, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Derek Hale, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingeyre/pseuds/wanderingeyre
Summary: "Hey, Lydia," Scott says. "What's up? Is everything okay?""Yes, and no." She gets in her car and starts the engine. "Stiles wants to go camping.""You hate camping," Allison says."He's also finally putting his big boy pants on and jumping Derek.""Finally," groans Scott. "If I have to watchWhen Harry Met Sallyand listen to him pine one more time…"
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 319
Collections: A Very Sterek Summer fest 2020





	Lose My Mind, Find My Soul

Stiles's leg bounces as he waits for Lydia, going over all the very good reasons his idea is perfect. Okay, _somewhat_ great, but it is a plan and after years of having no plan and a lot of heartache, Stiles knows he has to be the one to make the first move, and to make the first move, he has to get Lydia on board. If she says no, Jackson will object, then Allison will refuse in solidarity, taking Scott down with her. Dominoes all of them and Stiles wants them falling in the right direction. _His_ direction. So, he needs Lydia if he is ever going to get Derek Hale to kiss him, admit he loves him, or, alternatively, hold him down and fuck the shit out of him. 

At this point, Stiles isn't that picky.

Lydia breezes into the coffee shop exactly on time like she is an atomic clock in heels. She looks perfectly put together— she always does—but she is softer around the edges than she was in high school. She doesn't need to wear clothes like armor anymore. Whatever fears she may have had at eighteen are gone now. She's a scary badass banshee, and she knows it. 

As she approaches, Stiles gets up before wrapping her in a quick, tight hug. One thing being part of a pack that's spent a lot of time apart is that they've all learned physical affection is important and needs to be given when the opportunity comes. Even Derek is more affectionate with everyone, a slow change that's happened in the last couple years. Stiles is tired of storing up those casual touches with Derek to agonize over later. Which is why he has asked Lydia to meet him here.

"I know you want a favor, so a bribe is in order. I'll have a caramel latte with oat milk." She smiles sweetly at Stiles.

He almost calls her on batting those beautiful eyes at him like he's still sixteen and desperately in love with her, but, instead, he goes to the counter because he does need her. 

He comes back a few minutes later with her coffee and a chocolate truffle as additional tribute. Stiles is a mess of nerves, jittery with wet palms, and he almost decides to abandon his plan entirely, but then he remembers how many years he has wanted this and mans up.

"You look more shifty than normal." Lydia's gaze sharpens on him and Stiles stills like a rabbit. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing. Why does everyone always expect the worse? One time, just _one_ time, I activated an artifact that made the entire pack sing in opera until we found the counter curse and now everyone is suspicious. No one even died. And it was only two days. Everyone's a critic."

Lydia stares at him, unimpressed.

"I want the pack to go camping," he spits out.

"I don't like camping." Lydia takes a sip of her coffee and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Stiles was prepared for this response. He pays attention. He knows Lydia doesn't just dislike camping. She abhors it the way Derek hates pizza, even though pizza really is the perfect food and camping is awesome. This is why he needs Lydia on board. If she is already in agreement, no one will have any reason to say no and his plan will be in motion.

"I know, but the pack has been apart for the semester, and we are all about to start new jobs or"—he waves in her direction—"go to a fancy grad school to crush everyone around them." Lydia preens. She may be older but flattery still works on her like a charm. "We need some bonding time. Besides, I think Derek missed us, and it'll be good for Mr. Grumpy Alpha."

Lydia shakes her head. "I don't want to go. We can just have a sleepover at the Hale House and the wolves can run like always. At least that way, we can all shower and there is a bathroom." 

Stiles nods in fake sympathy and presses. "But we always do that. It's been a year since last summer when we went camping. Remember how fun it was?"

"It was dirty, and you burned Scott's eyebrows off lighting the fire."

"Hey, that wasn't my fault. Scott's the one who put on too much lighter fluid. _And_ that‘s not the point. It got us out of our routine, somewhere different, and it was fun." There had been no room for Derek to go retreat to after he had gotten too close to Stiles during the campfire at the end of the night, either. "Please, Lydia. The pack needs this."

"I have plenty of money, and so does Derek. We can rent a beach house or something. I need running water, Stiles."

He's losing her. His plans for Derek involve the woods and firelight. There is this look that Derek gets when they are in the woods, away from people and bad memories, and Stiles wants to take advantage of that. There was a moment last year at their last campout when he thought Derek was going to lean in just a little closer, but then Scott and Allison had come laughing into camp, their hair mussed and tangled with leaves, and the moment had fractured. Stiles needs all the help he can get here. He swallows all the chaotic feelings in his throat and comes clean.

"I want the pack to go camping because I want to get Derek alone in the woods." At her raised eyebrow, he continues. "It's been six years, Lydia. Six years of too many half moments and late nights that only end in frustration for me to count. I'm going to be back in Beacon Hills for good next year and I don't want to be here without at least trying to have something with Derek."

"You're going to seduce him."

"What? No. No, I just want to tell him how I feel, get everything out in the open." Stiles hopes the conversation doesn't end with words. He wants the conversation to end with a lot of groping and kissing, hopefully without clothes, but he has been burned too often by Derek Hale to get his hopes up.

"You shouldn't go slow. Just jump him, Stiles. I've watched you two dance around each other long enough." Lydia's mouth is turned down, and she's boring a hole in his head with her gaze.

"I want to go slow. I don't want to scare him off or give him a chance to run." How did he lose control of this conversation? 

Lydia's eyes narrow. "How has going slow been working for you so far?"

Stiles runs a hand through his hair and throws his dignity away. He begs. "Please, Lydia."

The moment Lydia sighs, Stiles knows he has her, and he refrains from doing a fist pump into the air. Barely. He has _some_ dignity.

"Fine, but I still think you need to throw your body at him completely. He can't resist forever." Lydia smiles at him.

"I think he can, which is why I'm not waiting for him to make the first move."

"I'll pick a place. Bring it up on movie night this week and I'll make it happen. I'm organizing the meals. You and Scott are terrible at food planning for normal people. I'm not eating hot dogs, steaks, and sandwiches for every meal. There will be green things involved, and I'm not hearing a word of complaint from you, capisce?" 

Lydia stands to go and Stiles mirrors her movement. She steps into him and wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder. Stiles squeezes her harder than normal, as if that will calm the jangle of his nerves as he realizes what he is actually about to do. He is about to put a plan in motion that will move his relationship with Derek forward or backward, once and for all. They have been doing fine as friends, or whatever they are, and this could ruin everything Stiles has carefully constructed with Derek over the years. Fear tightens his chest.

As if she can sense his growing anxiety, Lydia breaks the hug and leans back so she can look into his face. "Stiles, don't chicken out. You both deserve the chance at something that could be great."

Stiles kisses her on the cheek and watches her walk out of the coffee shop. He collapses heavily back into his seat the moment she's gone and stares at the walls, panic stabbing at his brain. He is going to seduce Derek. 

Shit.

* * *

Lydia sighs as she reaches for her phone, quickly hitting Allison's name in her list of favorite contacts. Stiles is going to try to seduce Derek, and is going to do an absolutely _terrible_ job of it. She's not even a wolf, and she could smell the nerves coming off of him. Without some help, this ill-advised camping trip slash sex party is going to end with a whole lot of tears, and likely, not just Stiles's. The phone rings twice, then Allison answers, slightly out of breath.

"What is it, Lydia?"

"Is Scott there with you."

From a distance, she hears a masculine "No!"

"Thought so. Put me on speaker phone."

Allison groans, but there's a rustle of blankets, then the sound of two people putting their clothes back in order.

"Hey, Lydia," Scott says. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, and no." She gets in her car and starts the engine. "Stiles wants to go camping."

"You hate camping," Allison says.

"He's also finally putting his big boy pants on and jumping Derek."

" _Finally_ ," groans Scott. "If I have to watch _When Harry Met Sally_ and listen to him pine one more time…"

"Anyway." She pulls into traffic, already running through ideas. "If we let him do it on his own, he's going to ruin it. We're running interference. I'll be over in"—she glances at her navigation app—"fifteen minutes. Finish whatever I interrupted, and we'll start planning."

"Will do!" There's a rustle, then Scott yelps. "Bye, Lydia!"

"Be wearing pants when I get there, or so help me…" But since she's yelling at her lock screen, she rolls her eyes and hopes for the best.

* * *

Scott's living room is filled with pack in various states of relaxation. Stiles has claimed the recliner, bowl of popcorn in his lap. Lydia and Jackson are somewhere in the kitchen, Derek is (sexily) lurking in the corner, Kira and Malia are sprawled out on a pile of blankets on the floor, and Isaac, Liam, and Danny are running late (Stiles isn't thinking about it). 

In between bites of popcorn, Stiles keeps glancing at Scott who's snuggled up with Allison on the couch. They're _finally_ watching _A New Hope_ , and if Scott doesn't immediately fall in love with it, Stiles is going to have to seriously reconsider this whole life-long-best-friends thing they've got going on.

"We should go camping." Lydia's voice breaks out over the opening crawl, and Stiles inhales a mouthful of popcorn.

"Camping?" Derek scowls. "You hate the woods."

"I think it sounds like a great idea. Don't you, Scott?"

Allison's elbow in Scott's stomach is almost quiet enough to go unnoticed. "Yeah, yeah. Camping is great." He coughs. "That sounds great."

"Can we talk about this after the movie?" Stiles asks, panic rising. "You're missing the opening."

"What made you think about camping?" Derek asks Lydia as she and Jackson settle on the couch next to Allison and Scott.

"Oh, no reason," Lydia says at the same time that Jackson says, "I brought it up."

Stiles is going to kill them both.

"Okay. Then we'll go camping." Derek shifts in his chair, then gestures toward the television. "We're missing the movie."

Stiles gets a text message from Lydia around the time that Vader is dragging Leia off of _Tantive IV_. It's three emojis: one smirking, one blowing a kiss, and a pile of cash. He sends her back a thumbs up, then curls up a bit more in the recliner, moving just enough that he can see both the TV and Derek, engrossed in the corner.

* * *

The drive out to the campsite passes in a sweaty blur. The car isn't hot, but Stiles can see Derek in the rearview mirror, crammed into the backseat between Isaac and Allison. He is burning hot in a black tanktop and jeans that look like they were painted on by a very, very lucky artist; honestly, those thighs are indecent, covered or not, and Stiles has to concentrate on the road to keep from looking back too often. Scott is riding shotgun and shooting Stiles knowing glances the entire drive. If he didn't have to shift, he'd punch his best friend in the thigh, right above the knee where Stiles knows it hurts the most.

Instead, he rolls the windows all the way down and hopes any pheromones he's bleeding out are washed away by the cool Northern California air. It's a gorgeous day, the temperature that perfect blend between a little chilly in the shade and blanket-fresh-from-the-dryer warm in the sun. Elbow perched on the window sill, he takes a deep breath of the green scented air and smiles into the sun.

This is going to be the best weekend of his life.

They have to hike just shy of a mile to the campsite. It's not very far from the trail, though Stiles can feel Lydia's silent ire the entire time they walk there, and once they step through the underbrush into the open glen tucked into towering old growth trees, he knows he's done well.

"Wow," Scott says on an exhale. "This is like a storybook or something."

"Good job, Stiles." Derek claps him on the shoulder, then slings his backpack from his shoulder. "Malia, get a fire started. Everyone else, let's set up the tents."

Normally, Stiles doesn't like being ordered about, but when there's flexing muscles and brooding eyebrows added to the mix, he's a lost cause. He ignores the tingling in his shoulder where Derek touched him, grabs his tent, and moves to the edge of the glen—considering what he's going to get up to this weekend, he doesn't want anyone overhearing. He hasn't used this particular tent before, but thankfully it comes with instructions, complete with helpful diagrams and large print. He's got the whole thing laid out on the ground, but when he turns to grab the tent poles, they're missing.

"Yo, Scotty!" he shouts across the campground. "Did you take my tent poles?"

"Why would I take your tent poles?"

"I don't know, but they're not here."

Scott frowns at him. "I have my own tent poles."

"I get that, but _mine_ are _gone_."

Danny snaps the rain fly on his tent in place. "Stilinksi, I have a pole you can use."

Stiles gives him what he hopes is a withering glare.

"Check under the tent," Scott suggests.

That's actually not a bad idea. Stiles lifts up the heavy plastic bottom and peers into the shaded darkness beneath. No poles, just some pine cones and a rock that would be very uncomfortable to sleep on. Stiles kicks them out of the way and puts the tent back down.

He goes through the bag the tent came in, but it's also empty. His dad taught him how to do a proper search, though, so Stiles starts moving out from his tent in ever increasing circles, shifting his feet back and forth through the grass, waiting for his tent poles to magically reappear. He knows they were in the bag when he took the tent out. They have to be somewhere. He's nearly to the now blazing fire in the center of the campsite before he gives up.

Stiles puts his hands on his hips and glares at everyone around the fire, giving Scott an extra long look. "Okay, who stole my poles?"

"Stiles." Derek's voice booms from right next to Stiles's ear, and he jumps, almost throwing himself into the fire. Damn werewolf stealth abilities. "No one stole your poles."

"They're gone, though."

"Did you bring them?"

"Yes, of course I brought them." Stiles scoffs. "Who's dumb enough to forget the poles to their tent?"

Derek doesn't answer, but his expression hints that it might be Stiles.

"I didn't forget them!" Stiles throws his hands into the air. "I swear! It's a brand new tent!"

"I'm not bunking with him!" Scott yells from the door of his fully constructed, completely poled, tent.

"Not it!" Erica adds, followed quickly by the rest of the pack. Derek crosses his arms and glares.

"Derek's the last one," Lydia says. "Guess you're stuck with Stiles."

She's a genius. Stiles is going to have to buy her a hundred, a _thousand_ fancy lattes when they get back from this trip.

"I'm not sharing with Stiles." Derek's eyebrows are meeting in the middle and in danger of slipping all the way to his nose. 

Derek doesn't have to be so upset at the prospect of being close to Stiles, but Stiles uses humor to cover up his disappointment. "You want me to sleep in the dirt? Derek, I'm hurt."

"I want you to find your damned tent poles," he growls, not at all sexily. "Go look again."

"Why don't you help me?" Stiles bats his eyelashes.

Derek frowns. "Do you have something stuck in your eye?"

Sigh. "Nope. Come help me look."

"Fine."

He stalks over to the deflated wreck of Stiles's tent, then crouches down. It strains the seat of his jeans, his butt firm and round, and Stiles should not want to put his teeth in it as much as he does. He has to look away, just for a moment, before he stands next to Derek, who's cautiously sniffing the air.

"Smell anything, Lassie?"

"Shut up, Stiles."

"Shut up, Stiles," Stiles mutters to himself. "Quit making dog jokes, Stiles. Werewolves, never letting me have any fun."

"Something smells… off."

Stiles mentally flails, thinking he has been found out sooner than he wanted. He has a plan, well a vague sort of _idea_ of a plan, but it's something. He plays it off and scoffs. "It's gotta be the tent. It's brand new, probably reeks of plastic."

"Maybe." Derek sniffs again. "But I don't see your poles."

"Told you!"

Derek rolls his eyes. "Because you forgot them."

"Hey, Stiles!" Scott waves at him from the other side of the campground, cutting off Stiles's reply before he can form it. "What're we doing today?"

"I thought we could go for a hike," Stiles says. "There are some trails nearby that are really nice."

"Awesome! Just let me finish getting my shoes on." He ducks back into his tent, then reappears. "Has anyone seen my other shoe?"

"Maybe it ran off with Stiles's tent poles." Derek takes a deep breath. "It's in Isaac's tent."

"How'd it get there?" Scott steps out of his tent, then hops on one leg over to Isaac's. "I haven't been in his tent."

"Check for my poles!" Stiles shouts. A moment later, Scott steps out of Isaac's tent with two shoes and no poles.

"Sorry, man." He shrugs. "You wanna go for a walk and look for them later?"

Stiles sighs but nods. "Yeah, let's go. My poles aren't going to get any less lost if we step away."

"I'll stay here and finish setting up camp," Derek says, nodding toward his betas. "Isaac, Boyd, you'll stay with me."

Stiles expects them to protest, but Isaac looks like Derek's just shone a light on him and even Boyd, who makes stoic look overly emotional, is standing taller, shoulders held back, posture military straight.

Stiles is about to roll his eyes at their obvious preening, but then Derek turns to him, and Stiles can't help but soften at the small smile hiding at the edge of Derek's mouth. "I'll keep looking for your poles while you're gone. We'll figure out where you're sleeping when you get back."

It's incredibly difficult for Stiles to pay attention to the natural beauty around him while he keeps remembering that hint of a smile and the way that Derek's voice had roughened slightly when he said "sleep," like it meant more than just laying his head down at night.

* * *

When they get back from the hike—Stiles out of breath and panting, Scott looking like he'd just woken up from a particularly refreshing nap—the campground looks like a picture out of _Outdoor Life_. There's a stone-ringed firepit in the center of a series of folding camp chairs. The tents that are set up—all of the ones that aren't Stiles's—are equally spaced and perfectly put together. When Stiles glances inside one, there are two sleeping bags laid out on air mattresses, duffel bags resting in the back corners, and everything set up.

Except for Stiles's tent.

"You're sleeping with me tonight," Derek says, startling Stiles both with his words and his proximity. Stiles is shocked his seduction plan has come to fruition so quickly, but when he turns to face Derek, Stiles already has his most compelling smile in place and a coquettish wink at the ready.

"There wasn't space in anyone else's tents. I moved your things in already, but if you want to get your stuff laid out, there's time before dinner."

Heart sinking, Stiles nods. "Of course. Sharing a tent. That's. Okay."

"Are you all right?" Derek steps closer, smelling like sweat and pine and something that Stiles desperately wants to put his mouth on. "You didn't over-exert yourself?"

"No, I'm fine." Stiles gestures vaguely toward the pile of supplies. "I'll get a water from the cooler or something. Where's your… our tent?"

Derek points, and Stiles flees, embarrassment hot on his heels.

* * *

After dinner, everyone settles around the fire and Stiles goes into the container of food. He finds two packages of chocolate bars and the graham crackers, but only one bag of marshmallows. He swears they bought two at the store before leaving. He distinctly remembers Lydia making a disdainful noise at the amount of sugar he threw into the cart. She had been grabbing mostly healthy fruits and vegetables at the time, and he had drifted off into other isles, returning with an armful of s'more fixings and candy. Stiles digs through the supplies some more but only finds the one bag. He shrugs. The other one will turn up eventually, just like his poles.

Stiles shrugs, grabs the wire roasting sticks, and heads back to the fire. He pauses on the edge of the ring of light to look at the pack. They are happy, relaxed, and listening to Scott tell a story. Derek is across from where Stiles is standing, sitting next to Isaac and Liam. The betas are leaning against Derek with an ease that would have been impossible a few years ago. Stiles tries to keep his heart steady, but it stutters and Derek looks up right at him.

Stiles tumbles back into the light of the fire, breaking eye contact with Derek. "Who wants s'mores?" Stiles asks, willing himself to calm down and failing.

Stiles lays all the fixings on the table they set up and enjoys the ensuing chaos. There is a brief, predictable moment of squabbling over the roasting sticks. Erica sees that Issac doesn't have one and she hands hers over, then steals the one Boyd took from Liam. Boyd scowls but lets her take his after she distracts him with a kiss. Allison and Scott share one and Jackson is already roasting three marshmallows while Lydia gives him instructions. Malia wins two roasting sticks by biting her way through the fray and hands one to Kira.

Isaac has a white-knuckled grip on his roasting stick and he is looking at the marshmallows with uncertainty. He hesitates before picking up two and spearing them through the wire. He's been so well adjusted for so long that sometimes Stiles forgets what Isaac's life was like before the pack, but moments like this are a punch to his gut, a reminder that Isaac was denied simple pleasures for a long time.

Stiles sidles up to Isaac and throws an arm around his shoulders. "I love s'mores. I mean, you stick a marshmallow into a fire, then add some chocolate goodness to it. The key is perfect roasting, all toasty brown, not too far in the flame." The beta relaxes under Stiles's arm as he talks.

Stiles senses rather than sees when Derek walks up behind them and stops to stand on Isaac's other side. He wraps a hand around Isaac's forearm. "Want me to show you how?" The words are soft, all caring alpha, and Isaac's smile is fleeting but there as he nods. Stiles meets Derek's eyes and they share a look of understanding. If Derek hadn't offered, Stiles would have. 

Derek squeezes Isaac's arm. "C'mon. We can help each other. I haven't done this since I was a kid." Derek leads Isaac back to where they had been sitting earlier and the two of them start roasting marshmallows.

Stiles gets the roasting stick he had stashed under the supplies—he knows better than to wait for a pack of hungry wolves to just hand one over—snags some marshmallows, and goes to sit by Scott and Allison.

"I tried using magic fire to roast a marshmallow my junior year in college," Stiles says, twirling the roasting stick in his hand. "I didn't have a roasting stick so I held it with my left hand."

Scott snorted next to him. "Did it work?"

Stiles grins wide. "Depends on how you define work." He laughs and gestures with his hands, forgetting he is holding a hot wire with an even hotter ball of sugar fluff on the end. He almost sideswipes Jackson, who is on his other side. "It actually did turn out fine, thank you very much, but the marshmallow tasted off, like extra spices. I think it's because magic has its own signature, a flavor. Everyone's is different."

Allison leans around Scott and asks, "What did your marshmallow taste like?"

Stile gestures again and Scott barely avoids getting poked this time. "Cinnamon spice and everything nice."

There is general laughter at this. Stiles continues roasting his marshmallow until it catches fire. He pulls it out too quickly, burns his hand as he grabs the stick, and singes the front of Scott's hair. Jackson is doubled over laughing at them both and everyone watches but is no help whatsoever. Stiles wants to take back all the warm fuzzies from before. Werewolves are useless and he is surrounded by them, but he laughs and wouldn't trade them for anything.

"Perfect," Stiles crows as he squashes the marshmallow between two graham crackers and chocolate, the charred crust cracking as the melted sugar oozes out. It really is perfect and Stiles groans with pleasure and sits back down by Scott, who moves a few inches away from him even though Stiles is no longer armed with anything on fire.

Allison's voice is quiet when she says, "My family used to go camping before my mom died. She always brought Peeps for us to roast."

"Peeps? Those chicken shaped marshmallow things?" Liam asks around a mouth of chocolate that he is eating straight out of the package, not bothering with roasting anything.

"Yep. They are gross by themselves, but they are great roasted. The marshmallow filling gets soft and the sugar outside gets caramelized and hard."

"Next time, we're bringing those, too." Stiles wants there to be many more camping trips after this one, and since he is the one who usually plans pack bonding time, he is already thinking ahead. He loses the thread of the conversation, thinking of all the things someone could reasonably roast over a fire—hot dogs—and some less reasonable ones that might work—cinnamon rolls.

Derek adds another log to the fire and the movement derails the trains of thought chugging along in Stiles's brain. Derek is wearing a grey Henley that Stiles knows is one of his older ones and soft to the touch, and his hand curls in, fingers rubbing together with the tactile memory. He considers all the things he could say to Derek later when they are alone and he dismisses the easiest, which would be opening with, "Do you know why they say you should have sex when you go camping? Because it's intense."

Stiles looks away from Derek's broad shoulders and eyebrows with their own personality and looks up at the stars instead. Virgo is the only one he can pick out, even though he took an astronomy class two semesters ago. College was great and Stiles threw himself into being a student, soaking up as much as he could from his classes, but he lived for the weekends when the pack came back home. There were plenty of weekends when only one or two of them would come home, even though none of them traveled far for school. It was too hard to be away long. He missed this and he wants to squeeze as much pack time in as he can before they start pretending to be productive adults in a few weeks.

Derek is listening to something Lydia is saying, but they are talking too low for Stiles to hear over the story Erica is telling the rest of the group. Stiles settles deeper in his chair, contentment unfurling like a blanket over the anxiety buzzing under his skin. This pack is a rag tag group of misfits, but Derek has made it into a family, and Stiles can feel the ties of it in his bones—literally since he has tied his magic to each of them and the land they hold. He pushed himself in college and learned as much as he could from Deaton because he wanted to be useful to the pack, not just the human who needed rescuing. He feels settled with his place now, finally.

Stiles's gut twists as he considers all the ways presenting himself on a platter to Derek could go horribly, irreversibly wrong and how the blowback could affect the pack. Things are good now. Why is he trying to mess things up? He's lived with these inconvenient feelings for six years. A few more won't kill him. Probably. It could upset the balance the pack has found and Stiles suddenly questions whether finally doing something about this thing he feels for Derek would be worth it.

Stiles jumps when a hand wraps around his arm. It's Scott. "Stiles, come get some more firewood with me."

Stiles looks at the already overflowing pile of wood and goes along, even though he knows this will not be about firewood at all. "Sure." Stiles pulls a headlamp out of his pocket and puts it on his forehead. Jackson points and laughs. 

"Shut up, lizard-man," Stiles says, "Not everyone here can see in the dark." He flips it on the brightest setting and points it directly into Jackson's eyes.

"Dammit, Stiles. Now, I'm blind." Jackson squints his eyes and Stiles laughs as he follows Scott into the woods. _Worth it_. 

Scott walks far into the woods, past plenty perfectly nice branches and deadwood, and sits on a large rock near the stream. Stiles makes a note to bring everyone here tomorrow for swimming and settles next to Scott to hear whatever his friend has to say.

"What were you thinking about by the fire? You were happy, then you got sad."

Stiles turns off his headlamp and hedges. "I was wishing Liam hadn't eaten the last of the chocolate."

"Stiles."

He leans back and looks at the stars. Virgo winks at him. "It's nothing."

"Are you going to chicken out?"

Stiles keeps his gaze firmly upwards. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"What're you going to do about Derek?"

"Are you asking me what my intentions are?" Stiles does look at Scott then and winks outrageously at him because he has to do something to cover the anxiety that blooms like a weed in his chest. "Lordy me, I do declare."

"No," Scott leans back, ignoring Stiles's admittedly perfect Southern accent, "I mean yes, I am. I care about both of you, and I'm tired of watching the way you circle around each other."

"My intention is to get him naked and work through an extremely long list of fantasies I've been building up for six years." Stiles laughs but it does nothing to dispel his misgivings about his lack of a plan on how he is going to accomplish anything close to that outcome.

"Be serious."

"I'm as dead serious as that bridge troll we killed last month. I almost missed a final for that."

"Stiles. Quit deflecting."

"I know." His voice is quiet in the night. "I know. But what if I come clean and he says no and then goes back to being grumpy alpha all the time, instead of just occasionally, and what if it messes with the pack dynamics and…"

Scott puts an arm around Stiles's soulder. "Stop." Stiles clamps his mouth shut with a click. "The pack will adjust. I don't know what Derek will do—he has trouble with feelings."

Stiles chuckles. "That, Scotty, is the understatement of the century."

"But you should at least try."

Stiles nods and they return to the group, picking up some wood as they go. Derek's eyes track their return and Stiles notes that his shoulders relax when they step back into the circle of the fire. After another hour of quiet conversation, the fire dies down and everyone heads to their tents.

The air feels abruptly cold when Stiles walks away from the heat of the banked embers to where Derek's—their—tent is set up. By the time Stiles gets in the tent, gets his shoes off, and strips out of his jeans and into some warm pajama pants, he's shivering. Derek crawls in moments later, as if he was waiting for Stiles to get settled before coming in.

"Did you know that the man who popularized wilderness camping in the United States was named William Murray? He wrote a book in 1869 that talked about his experiences camping and it made people want to start exploring."

Derek's sigh is audible as he unzips his own sleeping bag. "Did you research camping before this trip?"

"Not this trip, no. Before the first time we all went, yes. Information is important, dude." Stiles adds the dude because he knows Derek still hates it. 

Stiles's back is to Derek and Derek pokes him between the shoulder blades. "Don't call me dude."

Stiles smiles into the dark even though he is facing the wall of the tent and Derek can't see it. "I saw you eat a marshmallow earlier. Two in fact."

"So."

"So, let it be known that Derek Hale enjoyed an activity and a sugary treat and the world didn't come to an end." Stiles falls into the usual cadence of their relationship. This banter is always easy. It's the other stuff he wants that's hard. A full body shiver goes through Stiles and his teeth chatter together. Damn, it's cold.

Derek sighs again and his sleeping bag unzips. "Come here." He slips an arm around Stiles and drags him, sleeping bag and all, closer. "I'll never get to sleep if I have to listen to you shiver all night."

Stiles's entire body is now very much aware of the way Derek is curled around him even with a layer of sleeping bag between them. It's not that different from the millions of times they have been close before, but this is the first time Stiles has allowed himself to lean into the feeling without guilt or embarrassment. Also, no shirts.

"It's not my fault I don't have magical werewolf heating powers. Only human here."

Derek huffs out a breath and Stiles feels it in his hair, then the sensation moves down to his toes. By reflex, he bites his lip and starts to push down the swell of need that roars through him, but he stops and lets go. He remembers the purpose of this weekend and he grins while wiggling back into Derek, getting comfortable.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Derek's voice is scratchy and low.

_Taking advantage of the situation._ "Getting comfortable," Stiles says out loud.

Derek makes a choking sound and starts to retreat.

"Don't, I need you to…" Stiles pauses and Derek emits a noise that makes Stiles chuckle. "I need you to keep me warm." He knows he shouldn't push too hard yet. He doesn't want to scare Derek off the first night, but it's fun to poke at Derek, and it's a balm for Stiles's own anxiety over the situation.

Derek relaxes and holds himself very still, one breath then another. They often touch each other—everyone in the pack is very touchy feely, even handsy at times. Derek and Stiles get in each other's spaces all the time, but this feels different. He's no longer trying to feign indifference, and he hopes for a miracle where everything will click into place to save them some time trying to figure out what is going on, or not going on, between them. Nothing is ever easy with Derek though.

Derek leans his head down until his face is buried at the base of Stiles's neck and Stiles forgets to breathe. He's never felt so encapsulated by anything and the gentleness of Derek's breath on his neck makes him want to weep with longing. For all his talk about how impossibly attractive Derek is, it's the hidden gentleness underneath the sourwolf exterior that makes Stiles's body clench with unrealized need. That gentleness is why in six years, he's never been able to fall out of love with Derek Hale.

"I can hear you thinking. It's loud." Derek's voice is a puff of air on his neck.

"Is that a werewolf power you forgot to tell me about? Reading minds?" Because if Derek can read his mind right now, that might save him a lot of explanations. Also, he would be very screwed because he has some very particular fantasies about Derek, some of them distinctly domestic and not pornographic at all. On the other hand, since screwing is what he is eventually hoping for, maybe Derek reading his mind isn't such a bad idea.

Derek's arm tightens around Stiles's middle. "Stop, Stiles."

Stiles presses back into Derek because it feels amazing and he can. Derek's breath hitches. "Can you read my mind?" Stiles asks.

"No, I can't, though I do sometimes wonder if your brain makes as much noise as your mouth."

Stiles chuckles and he feels his back vibrate as Derek laughs softly with him.

Derek continues, his voice low and playing against Stiles's neck. "You're"—Derek hesitates and Stiles wonders what he's about to say and tries not to be disappointed when what he does say is—"pack. You're pack and as the Alpha, I can get a general sense about you, but when you're really thinking about something, you get an energy, like a buzzing. I know you're thinking too much. It sounds like bees. Go to sleep."

This is the equivalent of a monologue for Derek and, even if Stiles is a little disappointed to be relegated into a category with everyone else, he is also exhausted, despite the gorgeous werewolf curled intimately around him. He falls asleep in Derek's arms and thinks his plan for weekend camping and seducing Derek is, all things considered, working out pretty well so far.

* * *

It was the first summer after high school that the pack found a game they all liked to play no matter the season or weather: Capture the Flag. It became a staple in their training for when they needed to do something physical but didn't want to run drills. Liam and Isaac are team captains because there's less fighting if those two lead the groups. They're also better sports about picking different team members each time. Liam chooses Scott, Malia, Danny, Boyd, Lydia, and Stiles. Isaac gets Derek, Allison, Danny, Erica, Jackson, and Kira. 

Stiles is not the best at Capture the Flag, but he has been practicing a special spell for just this occasion and he fairly hums with anticipation as his team strategizes. 

"I don't want to guard the flag this time. I want to go searching." Stiles bounces on the balls of his feet.

"You suck at searching," Malia says.

Stiles grins and throws his arms wide. "I do, but I have an advantage this time." Stiles closes his eyes and mutters the incantation under his breath. Power wells up from within and he bends it to his purpose. There are a couple gasps and he knows it was successful before he opens his eyes.

Lydia is walking around where he's standing. "You got an invisibility cloak!"

Stiles chuckles. Scott has his head tilted to one side and he is looking at Stiles, but Stiles knows he can't see him.

"I can almost see you, on the edges there, but that is awesome." Scott reaches out to touch him and laughs when his finger pokes Stiles in the chest. "You're a wizard, Harry!"

Liam nods. "Stiles, you win. You're on the advance team."

Stiles makes a fist pump in the air, though no one can see it. 

They break up and most of his team ghosts through the woods with intent, following the scent trails of the other team. Stiles doesn't have the advantage of scent, but he has been practicing another trick he hasn't told the rest of the group about.

Last summer, he finally learned enough to lay wards around the pack territory, first on the land around the Hale House and then in key places around Beacon Hills itself—the Sheriff's Department, the hospital, and the high school. It made sense that the pack territory had expanded as the pack grew and spread out. They spent too many years bleeding in defence of the land for it not to recognize the pack as its own. Weaving together the wards also meant Stiles wove himself to the land and to each pack member. He doesn't get as much information from the connection as an alpha can, but he can use the connection as a compass needle, and that is definitely coming in handy today.

Stiles moves through the woods, less gracefully than he wants, but the shielding helps. It doesn't, however, shield his scent, so he is almost caught right at the beginning by Jackson. He speeds past Stiles before skidding to a stop twenty feet from where Stiles is frozen like a deer. Stiles tries to calm his heart because that doesn't get shielded either. He really needs to work on a stronger spell.

Jackson's eyes narrow, and he looks to the left of Stiles. "I can smell you, Stiles. Where the hell are you?"

There is yelling and a howl from behind Jackson, and after another moment of glaring, he pivots and runs off. Stiles breathes deep and concentrates. He knows who he is looking for.

Derek is standing alert next to a massive oak. It has a cleft in the middle of the trunk with a corner of white poking out of the hollowed area. It's a clever hiding area, but leaving Derek alone to guard the flag was a risky calculation. It will, however, work to Stiles's advantage.

Stiles takes a step toward Derek and the man straightens and smells the air, closes his eyes and breathes deep. Stiles can feel the pull of his own power, knows Derek can feel it and smell it too, overlaying his own scent. Stiles has kept his heartbeat steady, but Derek can pick any of them out from miles away, so Stiles takes another tentative step forward and hopes for the best.

"I know you're here." Derek doesn't say who he's talking to, doesn't have to.

Stiles bites back a sigh and moves closer. He is ten feet from Derek and twelve from the flag. If he can get close enough to snatch the flag before Derek's senses catch up to his movements, Stiles will be satisfied and he will be in possession of the flag.

"How in the hell are you doing that?" Derek mutters and takes a step toward Stiles. Stiles takes one step in the opposite direction and stifles a laugh when Derek's eyebrows draw down. Derek's use of his eyebrows really is something to behold and Stiles fingertips itch to trail the shape of them.

Instead, Stiles takes a series of quick steps toward the tree, but he makes too much noise and Derek pauses only a moment before rushing after Stiles. Stiles's momentum slams him into the tree, and he reaches up to grab the flag, but it's gone.

Frustration makes Stiles forget he's supposed to be silent. "Where'd you put the flag? It was right here."

Derek moves in a burst of speed and is pinning Stiles to the tree, his chest pressed against the rough bark, before he has a chance to get out of the way.

"An invisibility spell is cheating," Derek's voice is against his ear and the feel of it whispering there makes everything in Stiles clench up.

Stiles makes a waving motion with his hand even though Derek can't see it. "Oh yeah, werewolf senses are not an advantage at all. I'm a tiny human. I have to take what I can get. Besides, you're the cheater. You moved the flag."

"No I didn't. It's right…" Derek looks up and sees the flag is clearly missing. "What did you do with it, Stiles?"

Stiles releases his hold on the spell and he can feel the release with a pop. "If I had it, I'd be running away and winning right now."

Derek is still pinning him to the tree from behind and Stiles can't see him well, but Derek pauses, leans his head back and takes a deep breath through his nose. "Something is off."

Stiles elbows Derek in the ribs, and it's like jabbing into a wall, but Stiles still does it. "Yeah, you are hiding the flag on your body. That's not allowed."

Derek takes a step back, releasing Stiles. "I don't have the flag."

Stiles whirls to face Derek and points at the cleft in the tree. "It was right there. You grabbed it while I wasn't looking."

"I don't have it."

Stiles calculates his success of wrestling it from Derek, wherever it's hidden, knows he'll lose, and moves to the balls of his feet anyway. He did _not_ learn that invisibility spell for nothing. Stiles wants to win this game. Derek catches his shift and is ready for him when Stiles slams himself back into Derek. It's not elegant, but it does knock them both off their feet. Stiles has filled out during college—not much, but some—and he uses that now to try to pin Derek to the ground.

That lasts about half a second, then Derek fips them so he has Stiles pinned to the ground with Derek sitting on top of him. He's not holding Stiles hands though and Stiles is patting down Derek, running his hands over Derek's front, back, over the pockets of his jeans. 

"Where did you put the flag?"

"Stiles." Derek's voice drops and he stills under Stiles's hands. "I don't have the flag."

Stiles slows his searching, his brain finally catching up to the position he's in. "Are you sure?" Stiles can't move his body, but he rests his hands on Derek's thighs, which twitch under Stiles's hand. "It was right there. Now, it's gone."

Derek leans down a couple inches and Stiles forgets to breathe. "I don't have the flag."

Danny crashes into the clearing and skids to a stop when he sees Derek on top of Stiles. He starts to say something, stops, and grins—a wide-knowing thing. Jackson is hot on his heels, but Jackson has no problem ruining the moment.

"Stilinski, you were supposed to get the flag, not make out with Derek."

Derek vaults off Stiles like he is on fire, and Stiles's disappointment is immediate. Nothing like the combination of Jackson being, well, _Jackson_ , and Derek acting like being caught in a compromising position with Stiles is the worst thing in the world.

Stiles gets up and brushes leaves and dirt from his clothes. "Derek had the flag. It was in the tree then he hid it again."

"I don't have the damn flag, Stiles." Derek grits his teeth.

"Then where is it?" 

Jackson peers into the cleft of the tree. "We left it right there."

"I know." Derek looks around the clearing. "It was right there before Stiles showed up."

Stiles waves his arms wide. "I obviously don't have it."

Danny walks around the back of the tree. "Then where'd it go?"

Scott runs into the clearing. "Stiles, did you get the flag?"

Stiles loves that Scott has so much confidence in him. "Nope. It's missing."

Most of the pack shows up, and they all look for the missing flag. Kira and Allison are the last to arrive, with the other team's flag in hand and Malia on their heels.

"We won," Allison and Kira say.

At the same time, Malia scowls. "Why are you all here instead of helping me?"

The situation gets explained again and everyone is looking for the flag when a cloud goes over the sun and opens up on them. Everyone is drenched and laughing as they head back to camp, flag forgotten.

* * *

Still trying to figure out where, exactly, the damned flag went, Stiles is startled when Lydia grabs the curve of his elbow and jerks him to the side. When he tries to take another step, her manicured nails curve into his skin, and since he'd rather not bleed this early in the trip, he waits until her grip loosens.

"Had to wait for the wolves to get further ahead," she says with a hint of apology. It's almost immediately washed away when she keeps talking. "You're shit at this."

"Christ, Lyds. What do you want me to do? Lick him?"

Her eyebrow raises contemplatively. "It certainly can't hurt. What've you done so far? Pined in his general direction?"

"I don't _pine_."

"Stiles."

"Much. I don't pine _much_."

"Well, you're outdoing the forest right now." She squeezes his arm again, though this time it's soft and makes his heart clench. "What are you going to do about this? You're not getting anywhere."

He sighs and tries to pull away, though she refuses to let his arm go. He runs his free hand through his hair, knocking a few errant leaves loose. "I don't know. I just… How do I do this?"

"Lick him."

"Lydia." He can't help the laugh that escapes. "Seriously."

"Have you tried _talking_ to him yet?"

"We're talking about Derek Hale here. He's allergic to heart-to-hearts, and I left my epi pen at home."

She rolls her eyes, then starts walking, dragging Stiles along with her. "He is not. You're just good at deflecting, even when you don't want to."

"I don't deflect." She glances at him. "Much. I don't deflect much."

"You're deflecting right now. Just tell him how you feel. It'll be easier once you get it over with."

"Can't I just write him a note or something. Check yes or no?"

"Are you twelve?"

"I feel like it." He thinks about being open with Derek, just pouring Stiles's inconvenient and, frankly, embarrassing feelings at Derek's clawed feet, and it makes his heart race. "I think I'm going to have a panic attack."

"No, you're not." She frowns, her red mouth pursed in quiet consideration. "I kissed you that one time. Do you think it would work if Derek did it instead?"

His vision goes a bit gray around the edges, and his jeans, already uncomfortable from all of the physical exertion in the last hour, tighten. He takes an awkward step forward, shifting his poorly timed half-chub into a more comfortable configuration. "Let's not talk about Derek and kissing, please?"

He's a little surprised when Lydia takes pity on him. "We should be talking about what your plan is here."

"I'll sit next to him at dinner."

"Genius. How is it that you didn't get into MENSA?"

"We snuggled last night," he says, voice pitched a bit too loud and too high. "Like, the whole night. I was little spoon and everything."

"Well, _that's_ more like it. Keep that up, and maybe by this time next year, you'll make it to first base." As they walk past the edge of the campground, Lydia squeezes his arm one more time, then steps away. "Pick up the pace, Stilinski. Before I get old."

"You're younger than me," he says, affronted.

"Even more reason to hurry it the fuck up."

"Okay, I get it." Stiles exhales slowly. "Just… I don't know, roll with me on this?"

Her eyes narrow. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Trust me, okay?"

She doesn't respond, which Stiles takes as a yes. He smiles at her, stomach full of butterflies, then runs to catch up with the rest of the pack.

"Hey!" he yells as he comes into earshot. "Anyone up for a swim?"

* * *

It's hot and after all of the Capture the Flag, everyone's more than happy to strip down to their swimsuits and jump in the nearby river. The current is quick and cool, and Stiles is thankful to feel the worst of his sweat and grime wash away with its gentle pull. 

There's a bend in the river where the current's slow and has dug a wide, deep pool from the main run. Scott and Isaac have rigged a rope to a tree near the bend and are taking turns swinging from it into the deeper water there. Malia and Kira are shouting encouragement from the bank while Lydia and Allison tread water nearby, laughing out scores for the boys.

"Seven-point-five!" Allison says when Isaac surfaces, his curly blond hair flattened to his head by the water and hanging over his eyes.

"What?" He flips his hair back, mouth comically wide. "That was at least a nine!"

Scott shouts from the bank, "Move over!" before swinging out in a huge arc over the water, then twisting with werewolf agility into a barrel roll. Unfortunately, he lands on the water belly-first, water exploding into a huge spray around him.

Everyone watching winces.

"Well done, Scotty!" Stiles says, laughing. "Perfect ten in my book!"

Scott shoots him a thumbs up, then swims over to Isaac who's laughing so hard, he's fallen back into the shallow edge of the river, head tilted back and resting on his elbows. Scott pushes him over and ducks his head under. Stiles grins, then lays back in the water, floating along in the current with his eyes closed and arms spread wide.

"You're going to drown if you keep that up," says a deep voice. Stiles flails because of _course_ he does, and then Derek lifts him out of the water by his armpits as if Stiles weighs no more than a piece of wet paper. "That's definitely not helping."

Stiles shrugs his way free, his bare feet sliding against the rocky bottom of the river, then turns to glare at Derek. "I was fine. Just trying to relax."

Derek lifts his chin, gesturing further down the river. "There's a huge rock over there in the middle. It's big enough you could lie down on it."

Stiles squints, then sees that Derek's telling the truth, though _over there_ is more like a good fifty yards from the rest of the pack, and _huge_ is an understatement. It looks like a piece of a cliff fell off and landed in the middle of the river, somehow not blocking it but managing to leave it bisected nearly in two, the river flowing around it in steady, smaller streams. The front edge of it rises out of the water like the bow of a boat, only there's no way this thing is floating away any time soon.

"Yeah, it looks all right, I guess," Stiles says, trying for casual and failing."I mean, if you like that sort of thing."

Derek huffs out a laugh, then splashes Stiles. "Go check it out, you idiot."

After he dodges another spray of water sent his way by Derek, Stiles falls back into the river and swims to the rock. It's cragged around the edges with plenty of hand holds, and he makes his way to the top easily, though he's at least five or six feet above the surface of the river. Looking at the banks across from him, he's higher than the water line, and he wonders again at how this giant thing made its way to the middle of the river. But as he explores the top of the rock, he finds a low hollow that's sun warmed against his back when he lies down, and Stiles blinks up at the cloud dotted sky, watching the light filter through the edges of the trees along the river bank.

He dozes off to the sound of water rushing through rocks and his friends' laughter, and it's warm like the center of his chest and the stone at his back.

* * *

After years of running from various supernatural threats, Stiles has learned how to sleep lightly. You never know when something's going to jump out from the forest and demand your blood (witches) or your first born (selkies) or your new pair of shoes (brownies). So when the light shifts to darkness, Stiles wakes immediately. He doesn't jerk up or flail, though. He's learned to pretend to sleep, too.

"Stiles." Derek says, his voice tickling the shell of Stiles's ear. "Wake up."

When he does open his eyes, Stiles is convinced he's still dreaming. Derek is crouched over him, his arms bracketing Stiles's shoulders, Derek's head and shoulders blocking the sunlight. It streams around him like a halo, though the feelings a sun-limned Derek pulls from the depth of Stiles's gut are far from sacred. Stiles wants to sit up and capture Derek's mouth with his own, to tangle his fingers in Derek's river damp hair, to draw his body against Stiles and feel his weight and solidity like the rock against his back.

"You're getting sunburned," Derek says, completely ruining the moment.

Groaning, Stiles goes to sit up, and it takes Derek a long moment to move out of the way. When he does, Stiles grimaces. His freckled skin is pinkish and achy. When he presses down on his stomach, the skin blanches white before turning back to an angry pink.

"Crap."

"There's aloe gel back at the campground," Derek says. "And it's late. We should be heading out anyway."

"Yeah," Stiles says before lying back down on the rock, "or you could relax a bit longer."

"You're only going to get worse." Derek's voice is like a balm, and Stiles stretches, mouth quirked in the hint of a smile.

"C'mon, sourwolf. Five more minutes."

Stiles is surprised to hear a sigh, rather than the splash of Derek jumping back into the river. "Move over, then."

Derek puts his hands on Stiles's bare chest and shoves, and Stiles can't tell if he's more off-balance from the feel of the calluses on Derek's palms or the push. Still, he slides across the smooth surface of the rock until Derek's able to lay down next to him, their arms and thighs touching in a long, blazing line of heat that burns Stiles's skin more than the sun.

He can feel Derek breathing. It's almost like when he'd been wrapped around Stiles the night before, but there's no sleeping bag between them now, just skin on skin. There's nothing sexual about that touch, but Stiles can't swallow around the desire building in his throat. Derek shifts a little next to Stiles, and their skin sticks from the sweat gathering between them. Stiles wants to put his mouth to that dampened skin, wants to taste the salt in the hollow of Derek's throat, feel the burn of it against his chapped lips. He has to clench his teeth and his hands to stop himself from rolling to the side and finally taking what he's wanted for _years_.

And then he remembers what Lydia says, and decides, fuck it. What's the point in waiting anyway?

"Derek," he says, alreadying turning, when Derek holds up his hand, brow furrowed.

"Wait." The crease between his eyes deepens, and when he opens his eyes, they're fiery red. "Do you hear that?"

Stiles stills and listens. The birds that had been filling the river valley with song have fallen silent, and underneath the sound of his friends still playing in the water, there's a distant rumble that makes all of the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"What is that?"

"I think it's a flash flood. Shit." Derek stands and cups his hands around his mouth. His voice echoes across the river, and the rest of the pack looks his way as he yells, "Get to high ground! Now!"

The command in his voice nearly sweeps Stiles away, but Derek's hand around his wrist is like an iron band holding him in place. When he tries to shake free, Derek's grip tightens. "We need to go. We're in the middle of the fucking river," Stiles says.

"We're higher than the rest." Derek drags Stiles toward the raised front edge of the rock. "If the flow isn't too bad, we might be able to ride it out here." He glances to the banks, then nods. "Tree line looks good."

"How do you know the water won't be over our heads?"

Derek glares at Stiles, then shoves him hard against the rock. "I don't, but there are trees lower than us, and if floods are common here, then that means the water doesn't get that high. It's also going to take too long to get down from here safely, so there's not much choice in the matter." Derek looks up river and bites his lip, brow furrowed. "Just be ready."

The rumbling noise grows, and now that he knows what he's listening to, Stiles can tell it's raging water. He peeks out around the edge of the rock, then watches as the previously pristine water becomes cloudy and filled with silt. The water rises steadily for a minute then a deluge bursts around the bend in the river, bringing the water level up several feet. The river is angry and churning, choked with branches, logs, and smaller rocks. The debris rushes past them, crashing against the bulwark of the rock, creating a foaming mass as the water plunges downstream. Branches snap like bones, and Stiles shivers as the water level slowly rises up the sides of the rock. The carcass of a deer, too new to be stiff, sails by them.

"Stiles!" Scott's voice is hard to make out over the roaring water, but somehow, Stiles does. He's standing far up the bank of the river with Isaac, the heavy nylon rope they used as a swing earlier gripped in his hands. "Do you think you can catch this?"

"Maybe!" His throat hurts from how hard he has to yell to be heard. "Throw it over!"

Supernatural strength helps get the rope almost to the rock, but it falls short and is pulled away in the swift moving current. Scott's talking to Isaac, though Stiles can't make out the words, and then Isaac disappears into the woods.

"Where's he going?"

"To get a rock," Derek answers, eyes locked on where Isaac vanished into the tree line. "To help throw the rope across."

They wait while Scott finishes pulling the rope in and Isaac comes back with a basketball sized oblong rock held in his hands. He and Scott loop the rope around the rock as ice cold water starts to lap at Stiles's toes.

A moment later, Scott yells across, "Get out of the way!" before palming the rock and heaving it toward them. Stiles steps back, but Derek stays in place until the last second, stepping aside as the weighted rope clatters across the surface of the rock. He grabs it quickly, then fumbles at the wet knots.

"You're going first," he says as he finishes untying them. When Stiles opens his mouth to protest, Derek flashes his eyes at him, and Stiles quiets down. "I'm more likely to make it if the water rises too high."

"And what are we supposed to do without our alpha?" Stiles asks as Derek approaches with the rope. His chest is so tight, he barely notices it when Derek wraps the rope around his chest and starts tying it into a loop.

"You'll have Scott."

"He's not you."

Derek looks up from where he's finishing the knot. "Stiles. I'll be fine. I promise." He ties a securing knot into the rope, then double-checks everything. "Scott, he's coming across!"

Turning back to Stiles, he nods once. "C'mon, Stiles. Swim as straight to shore as you can and don't get caught in any debris patches. We don't have time to argue about this. "

Stiles wants to say something stupid like there's always time to argue with Derek, but the water is lapping at the top of the rock, and Scott's already pulling on the other end of the rope.

"Stay safe, okay? I can't… We need you."

Derek doesn't say anything in response, just gives Stiles a small push toward the edge of the rock, and then Stiles is in the churning, swirling mess of the river.The rope is tight around his chest, but not uncomfortable, and Scott and Isaac pull him in with a smooth, easy pace that makes it seem like they're hardly working. But Stiles can feel the water pulling at his arms and legs, debris crashing into him in the riotous swirl of the river, and he's desperately thankful that his friends are werewolves.

He does his best to keep his head above the disgusting water, but he's still coughing and spitting when Scott and Isaac drag him onto the bank, Stiles crawling toward them on his hands and knees. Before they can check on him, Stiles is untying the rope with shaking fingers.

"Derek," he says as the knots slip loose. "We have to get Derek."

"He's almost here," Isaac says soothingly, but it just makes Stiles's panic increase.

"What?"

He flips to his back, scanning the river. In the middle, swimming with strong, confident strokes through the debris, is Derek.

"You idiot!" Stiles fumbles with the rope, cursing. "He's going to get swept away. We have to get this damn thing off of me."

"Hold on." Scott pushes Stiles's hands out of the way, and he deftly unties the knots. "We'll make sure he's safe, Stiles. It'll be okay."

"If he dies, I am going to bring him back to life just to kill him again, I swear to God."

Unable to tear his eyes from Derek, Stiles counts the seconds it takes for the man to near the shore. Though his strokes are smooth and even, the current is still dragging him further down river, and for a brief moment, he disappears behind the thick foliage covering the forest floor. But then his head breaks out from above the greenery, and he walks toward Stiles, Isaac, and Scott, barely a stumble in his step.

"Let's get back to the campground," Derek says as if he didn't just rise from the river like a goddamned mermaid or something. "The water's still rising."

Scott takes the coiled rope and slides it over his shoulder, then takes off after Derek. Isaac looks at Stiles, whose mouth is open and gaping, then shrugs.

"I dunno, man. It's Derek."

And since that's the best explanation Stiles is going to get, he sighs, then trails after the werewolves, reminded yet again that his life is anything but normal.

* * *

The pack is more quiet around the fire that night. Considering they'd all missed near-death by only a few minutes—thank God for enhanced werewolf hearing—they're all subdued and sitting too close together. Malia tries to find the roasting sticks for marshmallows and makes a huge mess of the supplies but can't find them, and she eventually gives up and throws bits of marshmallows and chocolate at Scott and Kira to see who can catch the most in their mouths. 

Stiles is hunkered down in a hoodie, sitting with Derek pressed up along one side of his body and Liam on the other. Between the fire and the werewolves surrounding him, he's almost too hot, but it's a bit of a relief since his toes are still cold from the icy river water and his chest is tight with sunburn. He's been trying to remember if the storm from earlier in the day was heavy or if there was ice melt in the higher elevations that would explain the ferocity of the flash flood, but he gets lost in the memory of the water swirling around him, branches slamming into his body as Isaac and Scott pulled on the rope looped around his chest, and then he's cold again. And though it feels silly since he very nearly _drowned_ , he's also a little nervous and feeling the pressure of only having tonight and part of tomorrow to make a move on Derek. He hates to admit it, but Lydia was right. He has no real plan, and with the painful reminder that they really don't have any time to fuck around, he really wishes his plan amounted to more than, get Derek into the woods then make out behind a tree when no one is looking. Years of procrastination, angst, and sexual frustration are working against him, along with a healthy reminder that he's human and fragile.

Stiles starts chewing on his thumb and giving Derek sideways glances when he thinks no one is looking, except it doesn't work. Derek catches his eyes midglance and puts a hand on Stiles's knee. His _knee._ Like it's nothing, which it isn't because Stiles is now literally on fire.

"Whatever you're worrying about, stop it." Derek squeezes his knee before releasing it. Stiles feels cold immediately.

"I'm not worrying."

"Liar."

Stupid werewolves. 

Over the past few years, Stiles has been able to get away with a lot of contact with Derek on pack nights and when there are other people around. It's harder and less frequent when they are alone because every touch feels heavier then. Tonight though, Liam is leaning against Stiles on one side, and that makes it easy for Stiles to lean into Derek a bit, though he resists the urge to really snuggle in.

Stiles could stay like that all night, but the fire dies down and the pack all go to their respective tents. Lydia gives him a long and significant look before leading Jackson away to their tent. Stiles is acutely thankful he doesn't have werewolf hearing tonight. He knows what everyone is probably getting up to in their tents—not that there's anything wrong with wanting to celebrate life after brushing up against death—and he doesn't need the audible reminder of what he wants to be doing but is, so far, unable to muster the courage to do.

While Derek banks the fire, Stiles walks to their tent thinking about scenarios where he convinces Derek to do something besides touch his knee or snuggle. The night air is sucking the warmth out of his bones that had settled into them while he was by the fire and Stiles turns to watch Derek in the low, red light of the embers in the fire ring. It's going to be another cold night and Stiles is glad Derek seems very willing to sleep close if it means keeping him warm. If he could only convince him to be close all the time, preferably naked. 

Stiles crawls into the tent, kicks off his shoes and changes into his pajamas. The entire time, he rehearses ways to be as suave as possible and roll over and kiss Derek or make a heartfelt confession or rip the other man's clothes off. Stiles groans. He is terrible at this. No wonder he never had a serious relationship in college, or even a short relationship. No relationships, in fact. His many misses during college have nothing to do with him being entirely too focused on a certain werewolf. Nothing at all.

There is a shuffling noise and a short whine on the other side of the tent door. Stiles sits up and zips the flap. The moment there is a gap, a large black nose followed by the fluffy black head of a fully-shifted Derek pushes into the tent. 

Stiles runs a hand over Derek's face and behind his ears, ending up scratching up under the wolf's chin. As a wolf, Derek is huge, easily double the size of a real wolf, soft and fluffy, so fluffy. Derek makes enough appearances to Stiles in his fully shifted form that he knows exactly where the wolf likes to be rubbed and how the wolf likes to snuggle. He has never told the other pack members about the times he goes on runs with Derek or the times they walk to the clearing by the Hale House and watch the stars travel overhead. It always feels too personal in a way Stiles wants to keep close.

"Hey there, big guy. It's been a while." Stiles runs his face along the side of Derek's face and the wolf huffs a breath into Stiles's neck.

The wolf nips at Stiles's fingers, and then tilts his head toward the tent flap. Stiles looks around the wolf's shoulder and sees a neat pile of clothes sitting outside the tent. He gathers the pile of clothes and shoes up and lays them on top of his own pile of clothes in the tent. Derek nudges Stiles until he lays down in his sleeping bag.

"You know, you somehow manage to be just as bossy and broody as a wolf as you are as a person," Stiles mumbles.

Derek chuffs at that and Stiles can't see in the dark, but he imagines that the wolf is smiling. Stiles lays on his side facing the middle of the tent, where the wolf is standing, watching him get settled. As soon as Stiles stops moving, the wolf turns around three times and lays next to Stiles with his face next to Stiles's own. One red eye looks at Stiles, glaring at him in a way that Stiles thinks is the wolf's way of saying ‘No talking tonight, Stiles. Go to sleep.'

"You're way more pleasant like this because you can't tell me to shut up." Stiles's smile is broken by a yawn, and he snuggles closer to Derek. 

The wolf lifts his head and swipes a quick kiss on Stiles's cheek before settling back down with a sigh. Stiles thinks this isn't exactly how he imagined the night going, but he's not going to complain.

* * *

When Stiles wakes up in the morning, Derek and his clothes are gone. Stiles touches the sleeping bag next to him, and it's still warm to the touch. He'd probably just missed Derek leaving. Sighing, Stiles lays back down and closes his eyes. The weekend is over, he's gotten no closer to getting all up on that—the rock doesn't count—and everyone's leaving for grad school or adult life after this, including Stiles. Opportunity knocked, and Stiles has pretended to not be home.

Crap.

With a heavy sense of disappointment, Stiles gets out of his sleeping bag and into his clothes. He rolls it up into a tight bundle, packs up his clothes from the weekend, and slides out of the tent as if he's walking into his own funeral.

He's halfway through taking the tent down when Lydia smacks him upside the head.

"Ow!" He leans away before she can hit him a second time. "What're you doing?"

"You drag me out into the woods in the middle of the summer with mosquitoes and no air conditioning, and for what?" She gestures around the campground. "For nothing! Nothing, Stiles!"

"You know I almost died yesterday, right?"

"Oh no, it's another day that ends in Y." She puts her hands on her hips and glares. "I agreed to this trip for one reason and one reason only: so that you could get dicked down by Derek Hale. And has that happened?"

Stiles goes back to tearing down the tent. He pulls one of the poles loose and starts folding it up, the metal making a frustrated snapping sound. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters, you idiot." She stomps her foot, though the effect is significantly diminished by the soft ground. "Of course your happiness matters."

Stiles deflates. "Yeah, I guess."

"You guess." Lydia shakes her head. "C'mon, we're making this happen. Let's get the troops together."

"The troops? Who are you, Patton?"

But she's grabbed him around his wrist and is dragging him toward the fire ring before his joke can land.

"Everyone, get over here!"

"Lydia!" Stiles wrenches his hand free. "Are you insane?"

"Derek went for a run," she says as the rest of the pack joins them in the center of the campground. "Listen up! We all know we're here under false pretenses."

"Oh, thank _God_." Malia sits down heavily. "Are we _finally_ talking about this?"

"What?"

"The _pining_." Malia scrubs a hand over her face. "Stiles, it's so obvious."

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again.

"This is the Derek thing, right?" Kira settles next to Malia, pressing in close until Malia throws an arm over her shoulder. "Are you finally going to tell him how you feel?"

"Does everyone know?" Stiles asks, turning wild eyes to Lydia. "I thought this was just between us."

"Stiles"—Scott puts his hand on Stiles's shoulder—"I think we knew before you knew."

" _What_?"

Isaac smiles, cherubic and gleeful. "Why do you think we've never played poker at pack night?"

"Because you all hate it?"

"Because we'd take all of your money, and we don't want to make you feel left out," Liam says with a wince. "And I mean, I get it. Derek's hot."

"Very," Isaac says while Danny and, more surprisingly, Boyd nod in agreement.

Stiles throws his hands up, causing everyone to fall silent. "Okay, give me a moment to catch up here. All of you"—he sweeps his hands out in a wide circle, encompassing the gathered pack—"know that I have… _feelings_ for Derek. And _all of you_ have not said anything about it because…."

"Because we were waiting for you to tell us." Allison's dimples flash. "It's not our business, Stiles."

"Except now it is," Lydia says firmly. "Because you dragged me out into the woods. The _woods_ , Stiles."

"Okay, _fine_. If it's everyone's business, then it's everyone's business." He looks around the half-dismantled campground. "But what, exactly, are you proposing I do now?"

They all stop talking, and Stiles feels fierce satisfaction at their silence.

"That's what I thought."

"Well," Kira says hesitantly, looking to Malia for support, "you could try talking to him?"

"Talking to him."

"Yeah. Just tell him you like him. What's the worst that could happen?"

"What's the… Kira. Seriously. Are you trying to invite disaster?"

"It's not like it could flood twice, right?" Liam says with a laugh that quickly dies as everyone glares at him. "Anyway, back to Stiles and his unrequited love."

"It's not! Ah!" Stiles stands up and points at all of them. "Your meddling is too late. There's nothing to be done about it, and you all need to keep your mouth shut so I can suffer in silence."

"You mean you won't bring it up next time we're playing _Halo_ at midnight?"

"Shut _up_ , Scott." Stiles zips his hoodie. "I'm going for a walk. Hopefully you'll all have come back to your senses when I get back."

He storms off into the woods, blocking out Scott calling out after him. It's still early, and morning light is filtering through the canopy in a way that would, on any other day, make him feel one with nature and the beauty around him. But today, it's just another reminder that time is passing and his only chance to finally _do_ something about Derek is fading away like the early morning mist.

"Stupid," Stiles says to himself, kicking at the undergrowth he's treading through. "Stupid, stupid Stiles. Can't fucking do anything right, not even _talking_ to someone. And what'd be the point?" He scoffs, then pitches his voice comically high. "Oh, Derek, you're so hot, I wish you'd put your face on my face." He scoffs again. "Yeah, right. Like that would work."

Coming to a stop before a massive sycamore tree, Stiles rubs his hands over his face before leaning against the trunk and tipping his head back to look up at the branches. "Fucking idiot."

"Not usually," Derek says from somewhere nearby, and Stiles screams. Derek rubs at his ear. "Fuck, Stiles. That hurt."

"Sorry." He frowns. "No, wait, no. I'm not sorry. You're the one who startled me. I shouldn't be apologizing, _you_ should be."

"I thought you knew I was here." Derek steps forward, looking devastating in faded jeans, hiking boots, and a red flannel shirt. "You weren't talking to me?"

"No, just myself." Stiles runs his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. Fuck, I need to stop doing that. You ready to go?"

"Almost." Derek's hands are in his pockets, and he's looking down at the ground. "You're off to grad school after this, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"In D.C."

Stiles swallows, nods.

"It's, uh… It'll be weird, not having you around." Derek's smile is a brief flash, like sunlight through early morning mist. "I guess I got used to it."

"I'll be back for breaks and Christmas and after the first year, I can switch to online for the research portion of my thesis. I was thinking of doing some regional stuff here so I could stay in Beacon Hills, maybe."

"And then you'll be… Sorry, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty for having your own life."

"You're not." 

Derek takes a deep breath, then raises his eyebrow. It's enough to shock a laugh from Stiles.

"Okay, maybe I'm feeling a little bit guilty. But I'll miss everyone, not just you." Eyes widening as he realizes how it sounds, Stiles continues, "Not that I won't miss you. I'm definitely going to miss you. But, like, there's my dad and Melissa and Scott and everyone else, and I just…"

"I get it. It's hard to move away."

"Yeah." Stiles takes a moment to stare at Derek, to drink in the sight of him standing awkwardly in the morning light, hands still tucked into his pockets but clearly clenched into fists. "I'm going to miss you a bit more, I think."

Derek looks up, his multi-hued eyes indecipherable. "Not your dad?"

"It's not the same," Stiles says with a shrug, forcing himself to not break eye contact. "It's different with you… with us."

Derek doesn't say anything, but he takes a step toward Stiles, his hands sliding from his pockets to his sides. He stops a few steps away from Stiles, close enough that were Stiles to reach out, he could tangle their fingers together and pull Derek closer.

Maybe that whole _make out with Derek behind a tree_ plan isn't as stupid as he thought it was.

"Derek, I… We need to talk." Stiles silently congratulates himself that he gets the words out.

Derek takes another step closer. "What do we need to talk about, Stiles?" His voice is nearly a purr and Stiles feels it like pressure on his skin.

Mouth open to finally let the words fall from his lips, Stiles is startled when he hears Scott yelling from the campground instead of his own voice. Derek freezes and smells the air, closing the space between them, but the gesture is protective not provocative.

Shit. Finally, Stiles is getting somewhere and _of course_ something terrible and dangerous is going to happen to mess up the one opportunity he has to do literally anything about Derek. Stiles can't believe his shitty luck.

* * *

There's an awareness on the back of Derek's neck and that damned scent that has been plaguing him all weekend is in the air again. It doesn't help that something has been bothering Stiles the last couple days too, and Derek is tired of it. Derek hasn't been able to relax all weekend—Stiles's overflow of emotions have kept him on edge and Derek does not like it when Stiles is unbalanced. Stiles is the heart of the pack, his heart if he's brutally honest, and Derek has trouble finding his own equilibrium when Stiles teeters.

The scent gets thicker in the air and Derek wraps a hand around Stiles's upper arm. "Something's wrong."

It's a moment too late, because Derek looks up and sees five small figures in the air above them. They're hovering just over the edge of a cliff face that stretches along the side of the forest. Derek squints up, trying to get a better look at them just before the side of the cliff gives way and comes tumbling down toward Derek and Stiles. Stiles is closest to the cliff and the rocks will land on him first—Stiles who can least afford the damage. Fear is a tang of metal on Derek's tongue as he tries to pull Stiles to safety, but there is a pressure on his fingers and chest as he is pushed away from Stiles and onto the ground. Rocks crash onto his head and he gives into a moment of pure, unfiltered panic as he watches the rocks bury Stiles. 

His brain catches up to what he saw even as he registers the cuts and bruises that are already healing.

_Fucking pixies._

Derek pushes the rocks off his chest and legs—he's not buried, just pinned—and he springs to his feet. He turns and the pack is bursting through the trees, the wolves at the front, eyes glowing and ready for a fight, Lydia, Kira, and Danny behind them. Derek takes a head count. The only person missing is Stiles and Derek can't help the frisson of fear when he sees the large pile of rocks, as the dust settles, at the base of the cliff face. It's enough to completely cover the other man and Derek frantically listens. Stiles is under the rocks, alive. His knees nearly give out in relief.

Derek runs toward the rocks, the pack on his heels, when the five small figures reappear on top of the pile, and they all skid to a stop. Liam doesn't stop in time and slams into Derek's back. The pixies are about one foot high, with angular, exaggerated features and clothing in a gossamer material that barely covers their androgynous bodies. Wings of cellophane shine in the sun as they hover over the pile of rocks crushing Stiles. Derek can hear Stiles's heartbeat, slow and steady, so he knows Stiles is unconscious, which doesn't make Derek feel better. If Stiles has a concussion or is seriously injured, they need to get to him. Now.

Derek takes a step toward the pixies. He wishes Stiles was beside him because Stiles would know what Derek needs to do right now. Keeping his eyes on the five pixies flying in a vee, Derek takes another, deliberate step forward

The pixie in the middle holds up a hand to stop him. Its voice is like bells in the wind. "Alpha Wolf, we are upset that you would trespass on our land and traverse through our waterways without asking for the leave first to do so."

Derek has to check the anger that flares in his chest. "We're sorry for the oversight. We didn't know this was your territory, but we don't have time for this. We need to help our friend. He's hurt."

The center pixie shakes its head and continues as if Derek has not spoken. "It is a gross oversight on your part, Alpha Wolf, to come into the territory of another without acknowledgement. We were sure when you knew, you would make amends and thus we tried to remind you, in small ways, that you and your wolves and not-wolves were not where you should be."

"You took Stiles's tent poles and hid Scott's shoe," Lydia steps up to stand to Derek's right.

"I knew he didn't leave them at home," Scott said, always loyal.

"You took our other marshmallows." Malia looks the most angry about this.

Derek makes a swiping motion with his hand to shut up his pack. "I've already apologized, but we need to get to our friend." Anger is an itch under his skin and Derek knows his eyes are starting to leak into red. Stiles could be bleeding out. Derek takes a deep breath and can pick out Stiles's blood on the air but he can't tell how much. He moves forward again.

The head pixie's face contorts into something ferocious and it bears fanged teeth. "Stop moving, Alpha, or we will bring the rest of the cliff down on top of the delicate human."

Derek growls, the sound echoed by his wolves around him, but he halts, digging clawed hands into his palms until they draw blood.

The pixie nods and continues. "We would have been willing to overlook your oversight, but then your wolves laid claim to a large area of our land."

Derek is confused until the smallest of the pixies pulls the missing flag from thin air and their anger falls into place. He really needs Stiles here—Derek's heart skips painfully—because the only thing he remembers about pixies is that they are very territorial. He doesn't know how to make this situation better or the best way to make amends and move this the fuck on so he can get to Stiles.

"Because you tried to claim our land, we had to escalate our warnings so that you would do the right thing. We had no choice but to make you aware of your transgressions so that you could right the wrongs you have laid at our feet."

"The flood was your doing." Lydia's breath is a swift intake. "And now the rock slide."

Derek no longer tries to hide his anger. His voice is more wolf than human, though his eyes and claws are still hidden. "Stiles almost drowned in that flood. You did this. You pushed me from him when the rocks fell. He could be dying under there." Derek's throat is thick with a rising panic and it's hard for him to breathe.

"You should not have come into our territory without asking. You should not have come here without first paying a tribute. A tribute was due." The pixie's voice increases in volume and booms like bells in a tower over the clearing, discordant and clashing. "You should not have tried to claim that which was not yours." Small rocks break off with the noise and ping on the top of the rock pile.

Derek is losing his ability to care if the pixies are pissed off. "If he is hurt, you won't leave this clearing alive."

"There is no need for threats. You are the ones who must pay for this grave offense. A tribute is required. You must give us what is precious."

Derek can feel the blood drain from his face. There is only one thing Derek values besides the Pack and Stiles is currently under a pile of rocks. "We don't have anything of worth to give you."

The pixie tilts its head and it's voice is back to sounding like tinkling bells. "Do you not?

"No." Derek keeps his voice steady but it takes everything he has to do it. "You can't have him." The metal taste of fear is back and Derek doesn't know if the pack can take all the pixies before they cause more harm to Stiles. The road is a hike away, the hospital farther still, and if Stiles is really hurt, time is against them and this conversation is not helping. 

The pixies laugh and Derek growls.

"You claim him now as precious? Now, when you have studiously avoided him since coming here?" At Derek's look, the pixie added. "We have seen all the things you and your wolves and not-wolves have done since you arrived. We have seen it all." The pixie flies closer, but not close enough for Derek to yank it out of the air like he wants to do. "Unlike you, we are a civilized species and would never demand such a thing from you. That is barbaric. It's insulting that you would even think it."

Stiles's heartbeat increases as he wakes up—Derek never stopped listening to it—and it kicks into another gear as Stiles realizes he is buried. "We don't have time for this," Derek grounds out.

The pixie levels a look at Derek. "You are so impatient, Alpha. It is a wonder you possess the patience to ignore claiming that which you most desire." Derek can feel the flush on his neck and the pixie holds out their hands palm up. "We only require something valuable, a bauble and a promise to never come into our territory again. You, your wolves, and not-wolves are no longer welcome here."

They are camping. They did not bring anything of value. Derek huffs in frustration. "What would you suggest would be a worthy offering?"

The pixie's eyes sparkle and its wings beat faster as it points to Lydia. "We would like the gems that adorn the banshee, for a banshee's treasure willingly given is beyond measure."

Lydia's fingers ghost over her earrings. "But these are Tiffany Circlet earrings. I had to special order the rose gold."

Derek turns and glares at her. "Lydia."

"Fine, but only because it'll save Stiles. Those are my favorite." Lydia unhooks the earrings and holds them out in her palm. One of the other pixies glides forward and takes them.

The head pixie nods. "We accept this tribute. We will return to you the thing you find most precious and then you must leave our territory and never return, Alpha Wolf." 

Derek doesn't wait for the pixies to help, giving orders as he moves. "Try to pull the ones on the top first. We don't want to cause more damage than has already been done." The smell of blood gets stronger as they remove the top layer of rocks and Derek tries to keep his emotions in check, if for no other reason than to keep the rest of the pack from freaking out. He can hear the steady, if elevated, beat of Stiles's heart so he knows Stiles is alive, but there is also an assault of anxiety coming from everyone else around him and Derek has trouble breathing through the pain in his chest.

There are a lot of things that he should have done differently over the years—and Derek's regrets are vast and bloody—but he has so many regrets about Stiles, and he is sick of holding on to all of them. Derek digs faster, his hands bloody then healing and finally, thank God, he can see a tuft of Stiles hair. When they get the rocks off his face, there is a cut down his cheek and Stiles has the gall to grin like he hasn't been under a ton of rocks for the last twenty minutes.

"It was pixies! They stole my tent poles." Stiles seems altogether too pleased with the turn of events. "Pixies are very territorial. Did you know they have a Celtic origin and some people believe they came to the United States with immigrants from Ireland and Wales?"

Derek's hand trembles slightly as he runs a finger near the cut bleeding on Stiles's face. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Stiles's copper penny eyes are wide and his lashes sweep down. "Just some cuts, I think." His voice is subdued, and he holds Derek's gaze.

Derek is spurred back into action, now that he knows Stiles is mostly okay, but he wants to see all of him to be sure. Derek says over his shoulder, "Liam, Boyd, and Erica, help me finish getting Stiles out. Scott, take everyone else back to camp and get packed up. As soon as Stiles is out and we make sure he can be moved, we're getting the hell out of here."

Derek assumes everyone moves to obey. His focus is on Stiles. With so many hands and the pixies helping, it takes less than a minute to finish uncovering Stiles, who is dusty and bleeding in several places. Derek runs his hands over Stiles, breathing deep and using all of his senses to make sure there are no broken bones, no internal bleeding.

Stiles tries to sit up, but Derek pushes him back down. "Stay still, dammit." Derek holds up two fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up."

Stiles swats st Derek's hand. "Two. I don't have a concussion."

Derek ignores Stiles's protests and runs a hand over Stiles's head, feeling for lumps. Stiles reaches up and grabs Derek's hand, stopping his frantic movements. "Derek, stop. I'm fine." Stiles squeezes Derek's hand and Derek releases the breath he's been holding.

"He is not permanently damaged," a pixie hovering to the left says. Derek can't tell if it's the same one that's been doing all the talking. They all look the same. It's close enough to grab this time and Derek considers it. 

"You're lucky he isn't. I would have killed you otherwise." Derek's hands haven't left Stiles. His chest is still hurting from the adrenaline and residual fear even though he knows Stiles is fine. Next time, Derek may not be so lucky. Derek helps Stiles to stand, slowly, with his body ready to catch Stiles in case something's wrong that Derek can't see.

The pixie begins to fly away, then comes back to hover a few feet from them. Derek has his arm around Stiles's waist, holding him tight and Stiles's arm is wrapped around Derek, his long fingers digging into Derek's hip with a pressure that would bruise if he was human. Boyd, Liam, and Erica are fanned out on either side of them, claws out.

The pixie cocks its head, eyes too big and seeing too much. "Do not waste the time you have, Alpha. Life is not an infinite endeavour."

Derek glares at the winged thing until it whisps away. "Fucking pixies." 

As soon as the pixie is out of sight, Derek does what he's been wanting to do since the moment he pulled Stiles out of the rocks—he pulls Stiles into a full body hug, pressing them together, feeling their hearts against each other and breathing Stiles in until Derek is sure, completely and without a doubt, that Stiles is whole and here and safe.

"Boyd, Liam, Erica. Leave." Derek doesn't lift his face from the space behind Stiles's ear. He hears the wolves leaving but he doesn't move until he can no longer hear them at all and he knows they are alone. Derek tightens his arms around Stiles briefly then pulls back enough so that he can look into Stiles's face. "I think you wanted to tell me something. We were interrupted."

Derek expects anxiety from Stiles, but instead he gets a cocky-as-hell grin. "The pixies seem to think they'd taken something precious from you."

"Don't you know you should never trust pixies?" Derek can't help the sassy retort. Years of conditioning in a relationship is hard to overcome.

Stiles shakes his head and his smile is all Chesire cat, wide and mischievous. "No, that's fairies. Never trust a _fairy_. Pixies, however, are irritatingly truthful." Stiles's grin fades and his eyes are open and honest. "If it makes you feel better, the feeling is mutual." Stiles takes a deep breath and plows forward. "I know my timing is shit, I'm leaving for grad school in a couple months, but I'm tired of hiding this."

Derek never has been great with words, he's always been better with action, or inaction when it comes to Stiles. Inaction no longer an option, Derek closes the space between them. He's imagined this moment a million different ways, in thousands of different places, but the outcome is always the same. The reality of it is something else, though. Stiles's lips are firm against Derek's, and when he gasps in a startled breath, Stiles surges forward, his tongue trailing along the seam of Derek's mouth until he opens wider, and Stiles sneaks a quick, darting taste. Stiles backs off, suddenly timid, and Derek buries his fingers in Stiles's hair to pull him back into the heat blazing between them. Derek has never felt so swept away. His palm is splayed along Stiles's spine, pressing every hard plane of Stiles's body against his own. Stiles's fingers are in Derek's hair, pulling until it hurts in the best way, then cupping the back of Derek's head as their kiss deepens.

When they finally break apart, panting with swollen lips and flushed cheeks, Derek knows the stupid grin on Stiles's face is mirrored on his own.

Stiles takes a shuddering breath. "As much as I'd love to stay here all day and, believe me, I have some ideas about things we can get up to in the woods, I don't think the pixies will allow it."

Derek knows Stiles is right. He cups Stiles's face in his hands and places a soft kiss on his lips. "For the record, you are precious to me."

Stiles leans forward and kisses him one more time. "While we're being honest, I orchestrated this entire weekend to get you alone in the woods."

"Seems like an awful lot of trouble."

"I mean, the natural disasters were a bit much." Stiles kisses him again and Derek revels in the ability to lean into it, to break open the seam of Stiles's mouth and taste him from the inside out. "But it seems like my plan worked out."

"I hope it didn't cost too much to get Lydia to help you." Derek is smug as he says the words and watches them register on Stiles's face.

"What?" Stiles squeaks.

"I saw her drag you off a couple times, and it's safe to assume that was what Scott dragged you into the woods about the first night. Should I also assume everyone else was in on it?"

"I hate werewolves. You are all terrible at keeping secrets." Stiles smiles, though this time it's shy and a little unsure. "I'll make an exception for you."

Derek threads his hand through Stiles's and knows he's not going to ever let go. "If there is one thing this camping trip has taught me, it's that I hate fucking pixies." He squeezes Stiles's hand. "But they do have a way of getting things done."

**Author's Note:**

> This was our first collaboration, and I could not have had more fun. Though this WAS meant to be a short story... 😬


End file.
